


you're killing me

by Aubrelin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Lee Taeyong, Depression, Emptiness, Heartache, M/M, Mental Anguish, Taeyong is very not okay, They stay together, but Mark does his best, deep unhappiness tarnishes a strong and unconditional love, even if its all in ruins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubrelin/pseuds/Aubrelin
Summary: Taeyong has lost everything, except Mark.---“You’re killing me.”“No… no, that’s not me,” Mark replied, though his own voice was breaking now, as he could no longer keep his sobs to himself. His chest felt too full, and his heart was aching. “It’s your own head doing that. And I’m really sorry. I’d help you if I could… I really would.”
Relationships: Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	you're killing me

Things had changed from a few months ago. In the beginning Taeyong had been more vocal. He’d complained more. He’d tried to bargain.  _ All _ the time. But things had settled down. Things had gone back to normal. Okay, ‘normal’ wasn’t the right word.

It’d been another long day at work when Mark finally got home. He still expected to be greeted the moment he pushed open the front door, despite how that hadn’t happened in a few weeks. Taeyong no longer came rushing down stairs, or from the kitchen, or the living room, to meet him. He no longer immediately asked him what they’d done that day, what he’d missed — like he was somehow still a part of them, just waiting to come back — and he no longer tried to give advice, or offer help, or get involved in any other way. Mark had declined his help often enough, apparently, for Taeyong to have given up. Not that it had been easy. It had hurt Mark every single time when he’d had to tell Taeyong ‘no’, when he’d had to tell Taeyong to stop. It had hurt to see the desperation in Taeyong’s eyes and ignore it. It had hurt to see Taeyong break down again, and scream that he didn’t have anything else, that he didn’t  _ know _ anything else. It had hurt to see Taeyong’s eyes go empty after another explosion.

“Hey,” Mark greeted, trying to keep his voice neutral. Taeyong was leaning on the kitchen table, bent over his phone. He was leaning on one of his hands, while poking at his screen with his other. It didn’t seem like he was doing much, scrolling through some website perhaps, but Mark was pretty sure Taeyong didn’t actually look at anything, or read anything. It was just something to do, to give the illusion of occupation.

“Hey,” Taeyong replied, absentmindedly. Taeyong had lost himself along another trail of thoughts, Mark knew. He could see it. He also knew better than to ask. Taeyong wouldn’t have any answers to give him, and the confrontation would only hurt him, and Mark hated to see Taeyong struggle.

He stepped over and moved his hand to squeeze one of Taeyong’s shoulders, before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Taeyong’s temple. “I have tomorrow off,” Mark said, hoping the good news would at least brighten Taeyong a little. It did. Taeyong sat up and turned to look at him.

“Really?” he asked. His eyes were always pretty, but Mark liked when they went big like this.

“Yes,” Mark said, and he allowed himself to smile. Smiling wasn’t something he often felt comfortable doing anymore, not around Taeyong. Taeyong had sometimes stared at his lips after he’d dared to smile, almost like he felt betrayed. Mark supposed that made sense, when it seemed so hard for Taeyong to feel happy nowadays. Or perhaps he’d always had difficulty with that. But he’d had his work to keep him busy. That was no longer the case now.

“What will we do?” Taeyong asked. That was another thing. Taeyong was so very bored. Mark knew, because Taeyong spent his days doing near to nothing. He had no interest in any of the suggestions Mark had given him. He’d read the first chapter of a book Mark had bought for him, and had refused to read the rest. It didn’t interest him, he’d said. So Mark had tried another book, but the same thing had happened. And by the third book, Taeyong hadn’t even bothered to pick it up at all.

“What do you fancy doing?” Mark asked.

“I was thinking… I was trying to write something the other day,” Taeyong said. That instantly had Mark tense up and he stepped to the fridge in an attempt to distract the both of them from the conversation. He wasn’t really thirsty, but he grabbed the bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice from the fridge to pour himself a glass anyway.

“Do you want some?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” Taeyong replied. His eyes were following Mark. Mark knew, because he could always sense it. Taeyong’s gaze was like that; sharp and half mad. “Did you hear what I said?”

“You were writing something,” Mark said, but he tried to make it sound like he was neither interested nor disinterested. A difficult feat, when he would give  _ anything _ to read Taeyong’s writing and engage in the sorts of conversations they used to have, in which magic had been born, and they’d brought songs to the next level. But he couldn’t afford it anymore. Taeyong couldn’t take it.

“Yeah, I thought maybe we could try— I don’t know— try—”

“Let’s see, alright? I’ll probably be tired, from the week, you know…” Mark said.

Taeyong’s hand fell to the counter. Or rather, he slammed the counter. “F-fuck.” The word escaped Taeyong’s mouth involuntarily. Mark knew, so he said nothing of it. Nor did he try to respond to the way Taeyong smacked the counter a second time. It was hard, but somehow he managed to take a sip of his orange juice, while he turned back around to face Taeyong.

“I was thinking… I could take you out on a date,” Mark said. It had been sometime since they’d last done that, after all. Taeyong wasn’t easy when it came down to this sort of stuff, but Mark continued to try. Maybe one day things would go back to the way it had been in the beginning, when Taeyong had still been alright. They’d had fun then. They’d go out, walk back to the dorm hand in hand — hiding beneath their hoodies and behind masks as not to be recognised — and then made out all evening. Mark had enjoyed those nights.

“Yeah, okay,” Taeyong said. He was leaning on his hand again, looking down at his phone, and Mark knew he was about to lose him again, unless he tried to keep him here.

“Shall I make us something to eat?” he therefore asked.

“There are leftovers from last night,” Taeyong said. “They should get finished.”

“Right, yes,” Mark replied with a short nod. “That’s nice, actually. I enjoyed what you made.”

Taeyong’s eyes shifted to look up at him and for a moment the two of them were looking at one another. Cooking dinner was probably the only thing Taeyong still did that remotely resembled anything he used to do. He’d always cooked for them. Except, it was just for Mark now. Mark hadn’t asked Taeyong what he thought of that. Nor would he.

They hadn’t really talked about moving out of the dorm at all, neither before or after it had happened. It had never been Taeyong’s choice. He hadn’t been involved in any of the decision making, except when Mark had tried to get him to pick a colour for the walls of their new apartment. Mark had tried to sound enthusiastic when he’d come home with several swatches and asked Taeyong what he thought. Taeyong hadn’t responded in the moment, but Mark had found the swatches torn and crumbled in the kitchen bin the next morning. The walls had been left unpainted. Mark hadn’t brought it up again.

Mark tried to get used to things. He tried to adapt. It felt like he was living two lives now. One was similar to the life he’d been living throughout the past few years. He was still going to work, seeing the others, practicing, writing music, attending meetings, preparing for comebacks and concerts… And then there was his other life; this one, where Taeyong’s eyes glazed over and Mark wondered whether Taeyong was aware it was the two of them at all.

“Are you hungry?” No response. “I’ll heat it up, alright, hyung?” He emptied the contents of the tupperware into a pan and switched on the heat. It wouldn’t take long, he figured, which was a good thing, as he was starving. “Have you eaten anything today?” Taeyong was poking at his screen again. Mark looked down at his phone, only to see the screen of his phone was off. Taeyong wasn’t really looking at it at all. “Let’s head to bed after.”

* * *

“Mark.”

Mark winced quietly and wanted to turn onto his other side, away from the noise, grab the blankets and snuggle back up, but a hand grabbed hold of his shoulder and shook him through, making that impossible. God, he was exhausted.

“Hm… Taeyong… What’s up?”

“It’s seven o’clock, you need to get up.”

“It’s my day off,” Mark muttered in reply, reminding him. “Go back to sleep…”

It was silent after that for a moment, long enough for Mark to believe it might work, but then Taeyong shifted on the mattress. He was sitting up. Mark could feel that by the way the weight was distributed across the mattress. And when he blinked his eyes open for a brave, short second, Mark confirmed it. He sighed softly. “Taeyong, please…”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep anymore.”

Taeyong was getting out of bed after that statement. “No, come back…” he muttered quietly, but defeatedly. He knew Taeyong wouldn’t listen. He’d probably been lying awake for a little while already, and had ran out of patience. Mark knew not to push him any further. He also knew he should probably check that Taeyong was alright, but getting out of bed was hard.

It was an hour later when Mark awoke again and with a jolt he was upright. Shit. He hadn’t meant to fall back asleep. The adrenaline was enough to get him out of bed in one go, though his exhaustion made sure to taunt his vision with dark blotches for a moment, while he adjusted to being upright. He’d really hoped to get enough sleep today, but he supposed he would have to try again some other day.

He stepped downstairs and found Taeyong on the settee. He was leaning back in it, his head on one of the armrests, and his ankles, one crossed over the other, resting on the other. He looked up from his phone when Mark stepped into the living room. Mark looked him over, as if to check that he hadn’t done anything stupid. Not that Mark could always tell. Taeyong leaned his head back and turned it to the side to look at Mark. Like this he was splayed out across the settee, his limbs thin and long.

“Morning,” Taeyong said, with a hint of a smile.

Mark felt himself relax a little. “Morning,” he said. He stepped closer, leaned over and pressed a careful kiss to the corner of Taeyong’s mouth. Taeyong turned his head enough to kiss him back and for a moment they remained like that, until Mark straightened back out, lifted his arms above his head and stretched with a yawn. Taeyong watched him.

“It’s nice you have a day off,” Taeyong said, like it had been news to him. Mark didn’t remind him that he’d told him already last night. It wasn’t a good memory, and Taeyong had probably chosen to forget it for a good reason. “Here,” he said, before handing his phone to Mark. Mark took it before he realised what he was looking at; the notepad of Taeyong’s phone, a whole bunch of sentences staring straight at him. He instantly handed the phone back, though tried his best to read at least  _ one _ of those lines, without being too obvious about it. No luck.

“I  _ really _ need some coffee before I read this. My eyes won’t focus,” he said. Taeyong laughed. Unaware that Mark had no intentions of asking to see it again. Mark’s stomach twisted sickeningly, but he grabbed the pot of coffee from the shelf anyway.

Taeyong was getting up from the settee and adjusted his loose T-shirt so it didn’t hang off to one side. Mark wanted to tell him it was a shame that he had, as it had looked cute, but he kept the thought to himself. Taeyong looked at the tiles as he came over and then took his usual seat at the kitchen table, while Mark prepared his cup of coffee.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No,” Taeyong replied. “Not hungry.”

“I’ll make you something.”

“What shall we do after?” Taeyong asked. He was leaning on one of his hands again, looking at Mark. He looked bored. He looked bored and far away. Mark wondered what he wrote about.

“Maybe we can go on a date.” Mark had switched on the kettle for hot water, then turned to look at Taeyong expectantly. Taeyong was looking at a blemish on the kitchen table, part of the wood, and ran his finger across the lines. He did that more often. “Maybe…” Mark continued. Taeyong looked up for a moment, but then quickly looked back down, like he didn’t think Mark was talking to him at all. “It’s okay…” Mark said, not sure who he was talking to at this point. Himself, probably. “We don’t have to.”

* * *

They’d had fun yesterday. They hadn’t done much, but they’d spend time together. They’d talked about nothing and Mark had tried to make Taeyong laugh. He tried that a lot. It used to be much easier.

In the evening they’d watched a movie. Taeyong hadn’t been too interested and Mark was pretty sure he’d stared off into space for the majority of it, but Mark had enjoyed the pretense of normalcy. His arm had been around Taeyong and Taeyong had been eating crisps from a bowl, occasionally feeding one to Mark. He’d tickled Taeyong’s hair every now and then and Taeyong had leaned into his touch.

It had been good.

Mark got home from work late the next day. He’d texted Taeyong to tell him the meeting had run over, but hadn’t received a reply. Taeyong had been so avid in the beginning when it came down to his phone. Mark would receive at least thirty texts every day, while going from one meeting to another, or taking breaks between dance practice. Taeyong would ask him whether he’d eaten — because he always used to ask all of them that around noon — whether he was okay — because he always worried — that he loved him, was thinking about him,  _ what are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? _ But nowadays it more and more often happened that Taeyong wouldn’t look at his phone at all anymore. He just carried it with him wherever he went, like the ghost of an old habit that had once dictated his life.

“I’m back, hyung,” Mark called, while he stepped out of his shoes and hung up his coat. There came no reply, because there hadn’t come a reply in weeks. Mark stepped through to the kitchen. That’s when he noticed the smell of cooking. It smelled good, a little spicy, curry perhaps. Oh, please let it be curry, Mark thought, while his stomach rumbled at the prospect. Not that Taeyong was in the kitchen, now. “Taeyong?” He peeked into the living room, which was empty, then looked upstairs, feeling his heart starting to race. “Hey, Taeyong?!”

Taeyong appeared at the top of the stairs and Mark felt himself relax a little, feeling slightly sick in the aftermath of the surge of panic he’d just been subjected to. “Hey,” Taeyong said, his voice neutral. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I texted to tell you.”

“I didn’t see, my phone isn’t working,” Taeyong replied. He began down the stairs and Mark subconsciously prepared to catch him should he slip. He didn’t. “I’ll heat up dinner.”

“Please,” Mark said. “I’m starving.”

“I like the new song.”

“What?” Mark asked.

“The new song that came out yesterday.”

Mark was shocked to silence. He pressed his lips together tightly, feeling a new wave of nausea — much worse than the previous — upset him to the point where his hunger had simply disappeared, no matter that his stomach had been audibly rumbling half a minute ago.

“Thanks.” But it wasn’t right. Taeyong wasn’t supposed to know. Mark had blacklisted pretty much  _ anything _ he’d been able to think of. He’d gone to great lengths to ensure Taeyong would have no way of keeping up with what they were doing. And not  _ just _ what they were doing, but pretty much the entire industry, so nothing could come to Taeyong via via via. He and Taeil had been pretty sure they’d done a good job at it. In fact, Mark had thought they’d gone overboard.

“Your part was very good. I liked everyone’s part, but yours in particular. And Yuta’s dance break.”

“Okay,” Mark tried. He looked at the pan on the stove, while Taeyong turned on the gas. “What did you make? Is it curry?”

“The lyrics—”

“Taeyong.”

“It’s something we wrote together, right? I remember—”

“Taeyong,  _ please _ .” For a moment Mark’s hands were clenched, but he tried to let the tension go. He had to quietly divert the topic elsewhere, just like always, just like always… “I’m really hungry. Let’s talk after dinner.” By which time Taeyong would hopefully have forgotten again. Or at the very least Mark could say he was too tired and had to get ready for bed.

“No,” Taeyong said. He turned towards Mark. “I want to talk about it now. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Did you perform it live already? Today? You must’ve done. I wish I could’ve been there. Why didn’t you take me to see it? You know I miss all of you.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“It’s a shame they cut the dance right before the last chorus in the MV, I really wanted to see it. Can I see it? The bridge leading up to it is great, by the way! Taeil-hyung—”

“Don’t you need to stir the food?” Mark asked. He occupied himself with getting two plates from the cupboard, and then opening the cutlery draw. All their chopsticks, forks, spoons and knives were neatly aligned. “What are we having?” Mark asked. “I don’t know what to get.”

“MARK!”

A terrible shiver ran down Mark’s spine. He continued to look into their cutlery draw, but then slowly pushed it shut when the silence in the kitchen lasted too long and he knew he had to address what had just happened. He turned to look. Taeyong was tense, his features contorted into something that resembled deep pain, his eyes sharp and terrifying, but so  _ hurt _ .

“You know… you know it’s not good…” Mark said in quick whispers. “Talking about it… You know… You know… I can’t.”

Taeyong shook his head, but it wasn’t a response, it was a wild gesture, like he was something feral, not quite human, trying to shake something off. “Talk to me, please, please,  _ please _ , please talk to me, Mark, please… please… Talk about something real, just for once, just once… I need something real, please, Mark, please…”

“I can’t,” Mark said, adding enough emphasis to his words to make it clear there was no room for arguing them. In the beginning he’d made mistakes. He’d given in, but it had never ended well. Taeyong would spiral and spiral, no matter how light Mark tried to keep their conversation — it was just one line of lyrics, one little artistic remark, one question about a dance move he wanted Taeyong to help him with — and down Taeyong would go. The journey back took hours. Long, painful hours.

Taeyong turned to the pan when it began to sputter. He stirred it and for a moment Mark was hopeful, but then Taeyong looked at him once more, and his eyes were still all wrong.

“How are they doing?” Taeyong said. “J-just tell me that. How are they?”

“Good,” Mark replied. “Everyone is doing okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you—”

“Taeyong!” Mark exclaimed, his own voice trembling now. He tried not to let his own emotions dictate him in moments like these, but it was hard. He had to stay strong for Taeyong, he knew that, but it wasn’t always easy, nor possible.

“Can we talk about the song?”

“No.”

“Can we really not?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I told you no!” Mark said sternly, before looking at Taeyong once more. Neither of them was breathing enough, as was clear by the quick rising and falling of Taeyong’s chest, and the sensation of lightheadedness Mark was experiencing. “Stop asking. I mean it. Sit down, I’ll finish heating up the food.”

“No, I—”

“ _ Sit. Down. _ ” The words had come out before Mark had thought about them, and he hadn’t noticed how he’d pointed in the direction of the chair Taeyong usually chose to sit at with a trembling hand. He dropped it quickly and tried to get his expression back to something more neutral. He tried not to feel terrified, while he looked at Taeyong’s teeth grit. “Please,” he added, much calmer, therefore merely highlighting the tension.

“I… I…”

“We’ll have food, and do something fun afterwards,” Mark said. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Taeyong’s voice was strained, and his eyes were much wetter than they’d been before. He stepped towards his seat at the table and Mark felt a sense of relief, even if he knew this wasn’t over yet. It was moving in the right direction. He just had to find a topic to distract the both of them, and things would go back to normal. “Okay,” Taeyong said again, while he pulled his chair back. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” Suddenly he was dropping to the floor and from his mouth came a terrible scream. At first Mark thought he had simply lost the energy to stand, but then he realised that Taeyong had merely used all his energy to make that terrible sound.

Mark turned off the gas and pulled the pan closer to the plates so he could serve their food. His hands trembled as he took the lid off, while he tried to ignore the sound of Taeyong’s breath hitching, and a heart wrenching sob. He looked around the kitchen counter, trying to figure out what to use to serve the food, while he hadn’t even looked at what it was. Curry, probably. It smelled like curry.

“Mark…” it was a cry. Mark wished he would  _ never _ have had to hear his name sound like that. He moved forward, leaned both his hands on the kitchen counter and lowered his head for a moment. He breathed in and out, his eyes shut, while he desperately tried to calm down. “Mark… Mark, please… please… I wrote something. I think you’d like it. I- I- I don’t know why you don’t want to read it. I worked hard on it. I really- I think it’s good. Except some of it… it doesn’t make much sense… I think maybe it’s— You could use it. I wouldn’t mind. Or we can make a song, maybe. Like we used- used to. Like we used to. Remember? Why- why- why won’t you read it?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“MARK!” the scream didn’t stop this time. His name simply merged right into it, and it was only when Taeyong ran out of breath that it finally stopped.

Mark’s knuckles were white. That’s how hard he was clutching the kitchen counter. But then he couldn’t do it anymore. He was on the floor besides Taeyong a moment later, pulling Taeyong close, while Taeyong struggled to breathe between uncontrollable sobs.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Taeyong… I’m trying to protect you, that’s all. I need to protect you.”

“You’re  _ killing _ me.”

“No… no, that’s not me,” Mark replied, though his own voice was breaking now, as he could no longer keep his sobs to himself. His chest felt too full, and his heart was aching. “It’s your own head doing that. And I’m  _ really _ sorry. I’d help you if I could… I really would.”

A moment later the side of his face was stinging, after Taeyong had shoved his elbow into it. Mark clutched hold of his cheekbone, wincing quietly, while he tried to see what was going on. Taeyong was trying to get up, scrambling to his feet. Mark instantly followed and pulled Taeyong back, right against his chest, his arms warped around Taeyong’s arms. Taeyong kicked one of his legs back, against Mark’s shins, but it no longer contained the force he’d had before. Instead Taeyong was becoming weak in his arms. Mark had to adjust his stance to make sure he wouldn’t drop him.

He helped Taeyong to the settee, where he fell down like there was no longer any life left within him. It was only by the sound of his uneven breathing that Mark could still tell he was here at all. Mark pushed him onto the settee properly and tried to assess whether Taeyong was uncomfortable in any way. He knew Taeyong wouldn’t be moving for a while, not even if one of his limbs would fall asleep.

“I wish I could take it all away from you, hyung…” he said quietly. He tried not to cry, but he did anyway. He leaned over, pushed Taeyong’s hair out of his face and pressed close to him. “I love you  _ so _ much.” Shit. Couldn’t he stop crying? Taeyong had stopped. He was no longer making any noise at all.


End file.
